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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520781">Divorcée</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles'>PumpkinDoodles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taserbones Tumblr Prompts &amp; Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [31]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, TripleAgent!Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:15:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23520781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>@winchesterxgirl requested Brock &amp; Darcy meeting at a divorce party</p><div>
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <br/></p>
</div>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taserbones Tumblr Prompts &amp; Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [31]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>390</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Divorcée</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesterxgirl/gifts">winchesterxgirl</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>*I own nothing!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Who’s party is this?” Brock said to Jack. Rollins had roped him into going. Accused him of moping and staying in too much after his last break up. Brock was too competitive to let it go, so now he was headed to a damn party filled with strangers.</p><p>“Jane Foster’s assistant. You’ve met them, eh? Jane and Darcy?” Rollins said casually. Too casually, Brock thought. He knew a trap when he heard one.</p><p>“If you think you’re setting me up with that mad scientist,” Brock began sternly, “you’ve got another thing fucking coming, pal.”</p><p>“Like Jane Foster’d have the likes of you,” Jack said dryly. “You just need to get out more, mate. You’re getting pale.”</p><p>“I’ve never been pale a day in my damn life,” Brock grumbled. They pulled up in front of a building. People were standing on the sidewalk and spilling out into parking lot. The lot was crowded with cars. “This is a mad house,” Brock said, as Jack parked.</p><p>“Lighten up,” Jack said. “That’s the expression, innit?”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Brock said, opening the car door.</p><p>“Wooooo,” someone called out as they walked up. “Happy divorce, dudes!”</p><p>“What?” Brock said. Jack shrugged. They walked into the building. It was one of those industrial spaces you could rent for stupid sums of money. Brock would never waste money on bullshit like this, he thought, mouth curving in a grimace. Loud music thumped. The space was packed with people doing shots. Tony Stark must be here, Brock realized, because someone shouted his name. Also, there were caterers and flowers and decorations inside. Like an elaborate birthday party. Brock looked around. There was a orchid-decked table by the door with a sign at the center. Beneath it, a row of tea light candles flickered. Brock squinted, uncertain of his vision, as people moved around him. It looked exactly like a chick’s birthday party announcement. Except that the sign by the door didn’t say Happy Birthday. “Jesus Christ,” Brock said out loud, elbowing Jack.</p><p>“What?” Jack said. Brock pointed to the sign. The letters were at least a foot high.</p><p>“You fucking seeing what I’m seeing?” he asked the Australian.</p><p> </p><p>In cursive rose gold font, it read, <em> Happy Divorce, Darcy! </em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It turned out that Foster’s assistant was divorcing her other (former) assistant. A British dude. And Stark had decided to come down and throw her a party. Jack flagged someone with shots down to ask. Brock took the shots, Jack got the explanation. “That’s too bad,” Jack said, more to himself. Brock scoffed audibly. “What?” Jack said.</p><p>“She’s throwing a goddamn party with Stark, she ain’t crying,” he said, leaning against a railing. There was a packed dance floor a few steps below. “Why should you feel bad? Which one is this woman, anyway?” he asked, scanning the crowd. He’d seen Foster coming to get Thor in SHIELD’s gym, but no assistant. Now he looked down at the crush of bodies. All drunk, he thought sourly.</p><p>“Dunno,” Jack said. He stopped someone they worked with, shouting slightly over the loud music. “Which one’s Darcy?”</p><p>“The one in the wrecked wedding dress!” the person told him, laughing.</p><p>“What kind of drugs and shit do they do in Foster’s lab--” Brock was saying, when the crowd parted and he saw her. The gorgeous, agonizingly hot brunette he knew from SHIELD’s coffee shop. The one who stood on his toes (once), told him dirty jokes at 9am (twice), cut in line mercilessly (every single time), and--he’d been sure of this--was married to the luckiest motherfucker on the planet. When he’d seen the ring, he hadn’t bothered to ask her name. No use in torturing himself. Now she was dancing with Stark. He was in his Iron Man suit. She had on a white dress. A wedding dress. At least, the dangerously low-cut bodice was white; the bottom half had been splattered with a rainbow assortment of paint colors.</p><p>“I’m free!” she yelled, waving her veil like a lasso.</p><p>“Fuck,” Brock said, stunned.</p><p>“Are they doing the chicken dance?” Jack shouted in his ear. </p><p>“I know her,” Brock said. “I’ll see you, Jack.” </p><p>“What?” Jack said, as he left the railing. Someone from Analytics called his name; Brock ignored him, moving through the crowd at a clip. He managed his way through the crowd of bodies.</p><p>“I’m cutting in,” he told Stark, when he was close enough.</p><p>“Hey,” Stark said. “No cutting in on the divorced bride’s Iron Man dance--”</p><p>“You!” she said, smiling. “Coffee dude!”</p><p>“Hey, Darcy,” he said, enjoying the sound of her name. He ignored Stark to hold his hands out. She took them.</p><p>“All right, fine,” Stark muttered, clunking away in his suit. Brock couldn’t take his eyes off her.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” she asked.</p><p>“You don’t know?” he said wryly.</p><p>“No,” she said, squeezing in closer to him. They were practically cheek-to-cheek now. She bit her lip as he waited a beat. </p><p>“I’m your divorce party present,” he said, smirking.   </p>
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